Twenty-Six (Part 1)

The man who killed him made sure to wear his finest suit that day.

Sitting in the back of the courtroom was the young ghost of a (former) twenty-six year old man. Unseen by the other attendees, he adorned the same outfit he had died in: a simple black T-shirt paired with light-wash jeans and white sneakers. Those who knew him had spoken his name during the trial, their voices laced heavily with a mixture of warmth and anguish. The young ghost, however, simply knew himself as the victim of the man—the man, also known as the defendant who was currently standing as he awaited his verdict.

The moment that followed after the Judge read off the first charge would be the catalyst that set the path for the rest of the man’s life. The ghost watched in complete horror and disbelief as the leading jury member said two words he didn’t think he would hear.

Not Guilty.

The murmurs of shock rippling through the crowd did little to ease the swell of injustice rushing through the young ghost as he looked back at the man standing shakily at the defendant table. His legs wobbled beneath him before he visibly sagged with relief. The worry lines that had made him appear much older than his twenty-two years faded as tension rolled out of his body, emphasizing his classically handsome features which were visible from his newly slicked back hair.

Not guilty, they continued, on the charge of negligent homicide.

Not guilty, on the charge of vehicular manslaughter.

Not guilty, on the charge of driving while intoxicated.

The ghost didn’t know how that last one was possible. But he could guess. With every charge the judge listed that was dismissed, the ghost could hear the foreperson’s voice growing weaker. Shaking ever so slightly as if the weight of responsibility that these two simple words held were starting to hit him. Each one felt like a stab of betrayal to him. Betrayal in humanity that a death like his could be so easily dismissed from the decision of nine people—that it could be contended with in the first place. Betrayal in the carefully stoic expression on the judges face as she accepted the verdict. And betrayal from the very man who was responsible for it all, now celebrating his declared innocence with an ecstatic handshake to his lawyer, warm embraces with his obviously well-off parents, pats on the back from the group of friends of he brought with him for support.

From what the young ghost could see, there wasn’t a shred of remorse in the man’s face. Not a single hint of recognition for what he’d done in the curve of his satisfied smile. It was as if he hadn’t decided to get behind the wheel with a 0.12% alcohol level, which had only become known when he was forced to do a breathalyzer test on the side of the highway as two EMTs carried the ghost’s covered body on a stretcher away from the mess of his totaled car. It was that same breathalyzer test that had mysteriously been excluded from the case.

And while the ghost watched all of this unfold, barely hearing the distinct echoing bang! of the judge’s gavel as she dismissed the case, the ghost couldn’t help but think about how, maybe, things would’ve been different if the man hadn’t decided to wear his that stupid suit. A suit that forced the jury to recognize how well off he was. Made them see how young and handsome he was. Beckoned them to consider his lawyer’s words about how he was ‘only a twenty-two year old kid’—a trust fund child from an affluent family—who ‘made a bad decision, but still had so much potential.’

That’s it? The ghost thought as his eyes flickered rapidly over the emptying courtroom. Watching helplessly as the judge grabbed her stack of paperwork before being escorted out the side door by her bailiff. He watched the lawyer who pled his case for his family speak to his mother with an apologetic shake of his head. He watched his mother, who only stared back at the lawyer with eyes void of emotion. Over the last three months since his death, the ghost had watched her cry herself to sleep nearly every night. He knew that her lack of reaction could only come from having nothing left to give in that moment. No tears, no anger, no words.

The ghost then watched the teenage boy he knew as his younger brother, tall, lanky and only sixteen years old, storm out of the courtroom. On the way out, his brother sent the man on the other side of it a withering look the ghost didn’t know he was capable of. The man caught his gaze over the shoulder of his own lawyer, his triumphant smile fading for the briefest second before his eyes went back to his mother, who was praising him as if her son hadn’t done anything wrong. As if nothing was wrong with what had just happened.

How? The ghost wondered. How could they act as if nothing was wrong?

The ghost’s mother thanked the lawyer for his help before turning to leave the courtroom without a glance back. She didn’t bother acknowledging the other family at all. The ghost followed after her, watching in sorrow as she found his brother sitting outside on the court steps. The ghost felt a pang in his heart as his brother stood to embrace his mother. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to do the same to them. To let them know he was there with them and that they didn’t have to be sad.

It was only when he overheard a familiar voice that he took his eyes off his family. Over there surrounded by journalists was the man who killed him, currently sandwiched between his parents. The journalists were like a sea of vultures, all holding their microphones and recorders towards them asking them various questions the ghost barely managed to catch from the speed in which they threw them.

How does it feel being a free man?

What are you going to do now with the second chance you’ve been given?

Have you spoken at all with the victim’s family?

How does it feel knowing you killed a man and got away with it?

It was the last question, thrown loudly from the back of the crowd that broke through to the man. He flinched back, his face stunned. It was the first break in the man’s victorious exterior and a small ounce of satisfaction rushed through the ghost seeing his reaction. The man’s father barked out ‘no comment!’ in response and took him by the shoulders to get him away from the many cameras drinking in his reaction.

The moment was a small ounce of retribution. The ghost looked at his mother, who hadn’t even noticed the ordeal. And it was then the ghost remembered that a small moment doesn’t take away the pain inflicted on her. Nor does it bring any comfort to his brother, who was red-faced and teary-eyed from emotion, staring down at the ground while his mother answered the journalists questions graciously. She thanked everyone who showed her family support during this trying time, ending it with a final and morbid statement.

Today was a bitter end to a pain we’ll have to endure for the rest of our lives. I wish I could put on a brave face and say that we’ll make it through and come out stronger in the end, but the truth is, I simply don’t see how that’s possible right now.

And then they left. The crowd of journalists parted to make a way for them as they passed through, leaving behind the court that had betrayed them without so much as a glance back.

The ghost looked back at the man, who was now getting in the car with his family and refusing to respond to any of the biting questions from the journalists who seemed to be on their side moments ago. It hit the ghost then, that this was truly it. This was all that would come from such a tragic event—a gross miscarriage of justice. Seeing the man leave, free, without any consequences, made the unfairness of it all even more clear to the ghost.

Suddenly, that small moment of retribution he had minutes ago wasn’t enough. And to his bitter realization, the ghost wasn’t sure if anything else would ever be enough.

The ghost swore an oath, then, that from that moment on he would haunt the man who killed him for the rest of his life. No matter what happened, no matter how long it took, he would be there for every single moment of the man’s life until he got his vengeance. He would be a constant looming presence over the man’s shoulder, a force of nothing but hostility and anger the man would surely feel. And even if there was a small way to make the man suffer, the ghost would make sure he did.

For right now though, he would be with his family. They needed him today. But tomorrow he would begin the rest of his undying life, seeking the justice that they didn’t get.

***

His killer’s first year as a free man was the hardest one for the ghost to witness. It showed him just how easy it could be for evil to prevail without a single care in the world or a glance back to whoever it hurt in the process.

The man—his killer—spent almost every moment of his time doing what any other young, attractive twenty-something-year-old did. He went out and partied. A lot.

In the beginning, the man pulled out all the big stops. VIP sections. Bottle service. Attractive women who smelled both his and his friends money from a mile away. And of course, cocaine lines on marble tables along with wild dancing to techno music that was loud enough to drown out any chance of having meaningful conversations. The man did everything under the sun. Remaining in a constant state of celebration that his friends were all too willing to encourage.

Through it all, the ghost could feel every single thing the man felt. They had become bonded that day in the court once he’d made the decision to haunt him. And for that, his one and only wish from the afterlife was granted. The universe bestowed to him an ability to feel the man’s emotions, to know the man’s thoughts—to a certain degree—and discern just enough to read him like an open book. The ghost had become an omniscient, mostly-knowing presence in the man’s life.

It was too early to tell if the ability was a blessing or a curse. The man was living his life to the fullest. Truly navigating through it as someone who had gotten away with manslaughter, milking the freedom he was granted for everything it was worth. His life was fast and chaotic and didn’t leave any space for regret. At least, not any that the ghost could detect.

Often times, the night would only end with either the sun rising or the clubs closing. Forcing the man to go home where he would be too wasted for coherent thought. The ghost would watch the man stumble into his condo with the layer of that night still thick on his skin and immediately fall asleep on whatever surface he found comfortable. His inebriated state revealed nothing of his true thoughts to the ghost.

Maybe that’s what he’s trying to do, the ghost thought to himself in a mix of frustrated and wishful thinking. Maybe it’s all supposed to be a distraction.

It was too early to tell, indeed. Though on the other hand, the ghost wasn’t really surprised by the man’s behavior. After all, when one comes from an affluent background what else was there to do when they didn’t have to work?

Work. Is that where he’d been going before he died? The question prompted a series of images to flash through the ghost’s mind; his memories, which were already blurry from the filter of the afterlife, of who he was before. He remembered many faces, soothing hands—his own hands—that would make things as easy as possible for those faces silently begging for help. He remembered flashing lights and a siren that would make traffic part like the sea.

An EMT. He was an EMT before. Someone who helped people in their most dire moments. How ironic that the very thing he did, couldn’t help him in his own time of need.

Outside of work, the ghost struggled to remember anything else he did with his life but found he couldn’t recall much. His job required a lot from him, which meant he had limited time for himself. Whatever free time he did have, he used it the same way any average person would. Going out to the bar to catch up with his friends. Maybe going out on a date or two during the weekends if his schedule could accommodate it. Spending his mornings in a peaceful silence, sipping his black coffee, finding comfort in the rare stillness he was granted when he didn’t have anywhere to be. As busy as it could be at times, his life was…had been…a simple one. With a few constant things he could depend on: His job, his weekend routine, and his family.

My family who I can’t see anymore, he thought. His mother’s face flashed through his mind, as well as his brother's. The last time he saw them was at the courthouse. It brought him back to the present moment, watching the man—his killer—now chug an entire bottle of champagne while a crowd of his friends and the attractive women who found them chanted in encouragement.

For a moment, the ghost wondered what it was like being in the man’s shoes. Not having to worry about anything, even before he’d nearly ruined his whole life almost a year prior. But it was the same money that allowed the man the luxury of time, the frivolous nights out and the complete disregard for others, that put the ghost in the position he was in now. The man was given a second chance, and here he was…wasting it by doing nothing worthwhile.

***

It was four years later, when the man turned twenty-seven that he allowed himself to think of the ghost for the first time.

The ghost watched dutifully from the steps of the grand stairwell as a crowd of the man’s friends—some with wives now, some still stuck in their bachelor mindset—sang happy birthday to him. They brought out a large, three layered cake, complete with a set of those special candles that looked more like fireworks than anything. They had brought the cake out on a cart this year, not wanting to risk dropping it like they had for the man’s last four birthdays. What they didn’t know is that their “accidental” dropping of the cake was none other than the ghost using the little bit of force his spiritual form could conjure to knock it down. A petty disturbance to put a stain on a happy day. But after seeing how much effort his friends had put into it this year, and not wanting to be annoyed about the man laughing it off as ‘bad luck’ or worse, ‘a coincidence,’ the ghost decided to leave the cake alone.

Make a wish! One of the wives chirped once they finished singing, earning a few whoops of agreement. The man mustered an indulgent, half-hearted smile, closing his eyes as if to think of something. Curious, the ghost listened. Over the last five years, his wishes had been pretty boring. A higher allowance from his father to get whatever newly modeled car that had come out, a steady relationship with whatever woman caught his eye, or to get really deep, more time to enjoy his freedom before taking over the family business.

So, the ghost was taken aback when his own face flashed through the man’s mind. The image was from a photo they had used in his obituary—a simple headshot of him smiling gently towards the camera with his arm around his younger brother, though that had been cropped out to only focus on him. The image had also been used in the trial to put a face in the jury’s mind so the ghost wasn’t merely just a name to them.

Not that it had made any difference in the end.

A tinge of pain emanated from the man, which makes the ghost straighten with sudden alertness. Pain, he noted, along with something that wasn’t quite regret. It was almost as if the man was purposely stifling anything other than a thin stream of acknowledgment for what happened five years ago. Even so, the feeling immediately echoed in the ghost’s empty heart, nearly shocking him from it’s abrupt presence. Having received nothing from the man for so long, to finally have the first taste of the man’s pain unleashed a swell of triumph through the ghost. He held on to that feeling as the man blew out his candles while the people around him cheered.

Throughout the rest of the night, the man mingled with his friends and family. He flirted with a woman he’d brought along that evening—she had caught his eye on one of their many nights out—and she stood by his side that evening with the hope that whatever it was between them would become something more. Based on how eagerly receptive the man was to her presence next to him, the ghost knew that he was hoping for the same thing. Behind the man’s fixed smile, however, the ghost could feel a yearning tugging within him. A questioning for what could have been. The ghost drank in the scene before him, eagerly observing the man’s face which revealed no hint of his inner turmoil to the people surrounding him.

It was only when the man excused himself to go to the bathroom that he let down the mask he’d been holding up the whole evening. The quiet that came from finally being alone for the first time invited introspection in him, to which he allowed himself to bring the ghost’s face to his mind once again. Even five years later, the man remembered it with a clarity like it was yesterday. This surprised the ghost along with the man’s onslaught of thoughts which rang loud and clear to him in those next passing moments.

The man thought about how he—the ghost—had been twenty-six years old when it happened. Only twenty-six? The man shook his head with a tightened jaw as he struggled to come to terms with this. After all, he was a whole year older than him now. The man thought of how the ghost would’ve been thirty-one by now, and he wondered how the ghost would’ve spent his last few birthdays, the rest of his twenties, if what happened…hadn’t happened. Would he have been enjoying the rest of his young adult years the same way he was? Would he have taken the more sophisticated route by settling down and starting a family by now?

We’ll never know, the ghost scathed silently. Because you took that from me.

He thought the man must have heard him, or felt his hostility. Because for the first time, and for the briefest moment, the man shrunk back as a violent wave of shame washed over him. Then, there was nothing. It was as if a steel door had shut inside the man, blocking out his thoughts of him—the ghost—not allowing himself to indulge in any other ruminating, or feelings. It was his birthday, and he was going to enjoy it.

When the man went back out to the party, his face was plastered with a smile as if nothing was amiss. The ghost watched as the man continued mingling with his friends, exchanging funny stories about their time in university, speaking of all the things they planned for the future, and cracking jokes about how thirty was right around the corner.

It was only near the end of the party that something happened. Something even the ghost wouldn’t have predicted.

The man, who had been trying so hard not to think of the person he killed five years ago, was struggling to ignore the emotional conflict he’d been dealing with all night. His friends knew about his past, of course they did. They had been the first ones to show their support during his trial after all, because they all knew it could’ve easily been them in the exact same situation. But his father had created a gag order for the press, rendering them unable to release any more articles about the man. So anyone who wasn’t paying attention back then or wasn’t around, was more unlikely to know what the man had done.

Having a secret like that lingered in the back of his mind every time he met a new person. And while his friends were loyal and never revealed his past to anyone, none of them were actually willing to know to the man’s true thoughts. It would break the illusion they had carefully crafted around their perfect lives and make them question the morality of their decision to support him. For this reason, the man couldn’t shake the urge brewing within him to tell someone who didn’t already know, what he did. To share with them the truth of his feelings that he couldn’t even admit to himself.

The man didn’t know when he let the carefully placed mask he’d been wearing slip, but it did nonetheless. And because his plus one had been by his side for the entirety of the night, now sitting at the bar with him in comfortable conversation, she noticed it.

Is there something going on? She asked him, concerned. You’ve been acting strange all evening.

Just a lot on my mind. Was his response, his heart quickening at her observation. She inched closer to him, and probed more quietly.

You can tell me about it if you want. I’m a great listener…and I don’t judge.

He couldn’t help the snort that came out of him. I wouldn’t be so quick to say that, if I were you.

Try me.

There was something about the concern in her voice, about the way she could see through his facade even before it became obvious, that beckoned him to drop his guard. Made it easy for him to delude himself into taking her word. To believe that what he was about to tell her would be as easily overlooked and supported as it always has been since the day his parents bailed him out of jail that first night.

And why not? It was his birthday. No one would cause a scene about the little mistake he made on his special day.

But he had been mistaken.

The ghost watched with fascination and shock, as the man revealed to the woman what he had done five years ago, and how he’d gotten away with it. The ghost watched how the woman’s face contorted from an expression of eager concern, to disbelief and then fury with every word he spoke. Her response would sear itself into the man’s head for the rest of his life.

You’re a murderer, she spat at him. It was the first time since the trial that he had heard the ugly word, and the first time it had been directed at him so bluntly. His parents and friends had done a great job shielding him from the public’s opinion back then. It had made him soft.

You are a murderer! The woman repeated, much louder now. A killer! A disgusting, vile killer who only got lucky because your daddy is rich!

She would go on in a slew of hateful words, not caring for the scene she was causing as everyone watched her anger unfold with shock and horror. She would tell the man how evil of a person he must be to be able to go out to clubs and celebrate with friends and act so unbothered as if he hadn’t done something so heinous. She told him how he didn’t deserve anything good in life for as long as he lived a free man.

And as the other women escorted her out, dragging her while she kicked and screamed and continued hurling insults at him, the man wouldn’t hear the clear pain in her voice and how it obviously came from a place of personal experience. He wouldn’t consider how she had been in the exact same position a few years back, but on the other side, still mourning over a brother she lost the exact same way, even after getting justice for it.

All the man would think about was how every time he would even entertain the thought of telling someone what he had done, he would think of her. He would see her face, full of contempt and hatred. He knew he would never dare to put himself in a position to be looked at like that again. Because that moment reinforced the man’s deepest fear, that he would likely never find acceptance from anyone outside of his closest circle if they knew the truth about him.

The ghost had been curiously silent throughout the whole ordeal. After having a small reprieve with the man earlier, having an event so significant was almost overwhelming. Still, he radiated with satisfaction and fed off the anguish oozing out of the man after being confronted the way he did. The ghost would hang on to the high he got from this night for years to come, tapping into it whenever he felt frustrated from the man’s deliberate denial of acknowledging what he did.

Like now. The ghost could feel man raising a steel wall around his heart again, effectively shutting him out. His friends had been quick to come to his rescue, telling him to brush off what had just happened, but it was clear the woman had shaken everyone up and killed the mood. And thus, the man forced himself to shut down any thoughts or emotions he had regarding his past. From that moment on, the man decided it would be easier to just pretend what he did five years ago had never happened. If he could forget about it, there would be no need for him to talk about it again.

***

The rest of the man’s twenties passed by in a monogamous blur. The man had finally started to calm down from his hard partying days as he and his friends eventually went their separate ways. His friends began settling down in different cities, starting new jobs and new families, moving on from the days of their youth with a stride that the man struggled to emulate.

The man began working for his father’s company right after his thirtieth birthday, as planned since his childhood. As his father’s son, the man was catapulted to the highest position right below him. The man had been groomed from a very young age to take over the company someday. And though he had hoped to have a few more years of freedom before preparing for that day, his father had been diagnosed with cancer that year, which put a swift end to his easy life as he knew it. He now had a limited amount of time to gain the respect of his father’s employees and show them that he was not only prepared to fill the role of his father, but that he was also deserving of it. The ghost found it strange how stoic and accepting both men were about the situation. There was very little drama or emotion between the two of them regarding his father’s illness or the manner in which the man would acquire the company from him. If the ghost hadn’t watched the man’s father celebrate his acquittal with a heartfelt embrace, he wouldn’t have known there was any love between them at all.

With the man working now to earn his position, each day became a predictable routine. Only this time on a more tame level. Interestingly enough, it was this very thing that the ghost noticed the man found comfort in. Going through the motions of working under his father, coming back home to a quiet house where he would wind down with a glass of whiskey and television, going out to his favorite bar on the weekends where he would listen to the live band and people watch from the table he sat at. The man’s life, once chaotic and adventurous, was now a simple one. The same way the ghost’s had been when he was alive. So simple, it was easy to forget that the man had gotten away with his manslaughter nearly ten years before. So uneventful, that the ghost had grown bored watching him.

Knowing there would be little progress in his quest for vengeance for the time being, the ghost decided to step back from the man and check on his family.

***

There were very few things that could bring the ghost joy most days, but seeing his mother doing just fine without him ten years after his death was one of them.

The ghost watched from the empty stool he sat on, the one closest to the espresso bar where his mother was currently pouring steamed milk into her favorite pink mug. Lola’s Place, simply known as Lola’s, had become a popular local spot almost immediately after its grand opening, and for good reason. The interior of the cafe was a cheery mint green, complimented by warm golden lights that created a cozy environment. The Parisian-bistro inspired doors near the entrance were wide open, letting in the outdoor breeze along with the fragrance of various flowers from the floral shop just outside. The cafe was bustling with patrons who filled every table and outdoor seating, talking animatedly amongst each other as his mother watched alongside him with a serene smile covering her lips, before taking a sip of the latte she had made for herself.

His memories of the life he had before he decided to haunt the man had grown faint throughout the years. But he could still recall how his mother had always talked about wanting to open a business one day. When she was younger, she had worked two jobs as a barista and a floral specialist. She loved both jobs so much that she dreamed about owning a cafe and floral shop put together. The ghost remembered how passionate she had been about the idea, but for some reason, there was always something holding her back from pursuing it. She would give him weak excuses about her age, how she’d have to give up her own career which she was comfortable in, how scary the thought of starting over was.

But you finally did it, mom, the ghost thought with a swell of pride rushing through him. Because despite everything she had gone through, along with the fact that she didn’t originally think she’d be able to move on from his death, she didn’t let her pain be the end of her. She didn’t crumble and waste her life away using his death as an excuse. No, she chose to keep moving forward, to go after the things she wanted, and she came out on the other side better than ever.

As for his brother…

The ghost glanced up at the picture hanging right next to his mother’s food license certification. In the picture was his brother, now the same age as he was when he was killed, standing proud in his graduation gown. He smiled widely at the camera with one of his arms wrapped tightly around their mother and using the other to hold up his newly granted Masters Degree in Computer Science.

His little brother had always been tech savvy. He had started collecting computer parts when he was twelve, a hobby that started from his love of playing PC games but wanting a better system to play on. The ghost remembered how eager his brother was to show him the progress he was making on whatever custom computer he created. Knowing that his brother would now be making a living doing what he loved brought the ghost immense happiness. And even though his brother was now living in a place far beyond where the ghost could reach him, he was content to simply know that his brother had turned out just fine without him there. That he, just like their mother, hadn’t let the pain from his loss consume him.

After spending the entire day with his mother, the ghost was ready to return to the man. He had learned a while ago that he could only be away from the man for a short time before feeling what could only be described as withdrawal symptoms, one of the downsides for choosing to haunt himinstead of his own family. The ghost wasn’t sure if being away for too long would cause his spirit to move on from the earth or make him cease to exist altogether, but neither one of those things were appealing to him. Not yet, at least.

There was the question he had asked himself a few times over the last ten years, on whether or not getting his revenge on the man was worth all of this. Not being able to see his family as he pleased, being tied to the man with an invisible thread until either the man died or he decided to release himself from his oath.

Then he would remember how deeply his mother grieved those first few months after his death, how the man had celebrated his freedom without a care in the world immediately afterwards, how he still had barely gotten any acknowledgement from the man of what he’d done beyond the night of his twenty-seventh birthday. Crumbs.

Yes, his family was doing much better now. Yes, the man’s partying days were over. But there was still an incalculable pain and anger left behind that had no place to go, and it all belonged to him.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t leave this place until it was gone. Until all of the negativity that polluted his spirit was expelled out of him in a thick, black stream, leaving nothing behind. Only then, would the ghost be able to move on and rest in peace.